


A casual arrangement

by valdomarx (cptxrogers)



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends With Benefits, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:28:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24276628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptxrogers/pseuds/valdomarx
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier have an arrangement.It’s casual, a way to blow off some steam when they’re antsy or lonely. A hand in the dark, a willing mouth, a spark of pleasure on the long cold nights.It’s enough. It’s fine.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 27
Kudos: 855





	A casual arrangement

Geralt and Jaskier have an arrangement.

It’s casual, a way to blow off some steam when they’re antsy or lonely. A hand in the dark, a willing mouth, a spark of pleasure on the long cold nights.

It’s convenient, especially when they’re out on the road, far from decent company. When there are no comely locals ~~for Jaskier~~ for either of them to indulge in. It’s a bit of fun. A way to meet their needs.

It’s enough. It’s fine.

~~It’s not.~~

.

Geralt almost wishes he didn’t know Jaskier so well, because then he might not notice how very carefully choreographed Jaskier is when they sleep together. How much of a performance it is. Geralt will reach for him, or whisper a suggestion in his ear, and it’s like a curtain will fall over his face. Jaskier, his friend, the one with the big heart and the bigger mouth and the goofy sense of humour, he disappears, and he’s replaced by Jaskier, the performer. The confident, wicked flirt who’s the best lover on the continent.

And that’s… well, look, Geralt enjoys Jaskier’s attentions under any circumstance, and he’s undeniably skilled with both his fingers and his tongue. It’s fully pleasurable for both of them, no doubt there. It’s just… Geralt wishes he could see less of the act, and more of his friend.

But it’s fine. _Of course_ it’s fine. Who wouldn’t want to bed the famous lover Jaskier?

And if, when they’re both spent and sweaty, breath panting in the cool night air, if in those moments Geralt feels a twisting pain in his heart every time Jaskier rolls off him and dresses without a word, that‘s not very well something that Jaskier needs to know. Geralt doesn’t even know what he’s hoping for. Cuddling? Intimacy? Confessions of love?

It’s pathetic, frankly, that he can’t even enjoy the occasional casual tryst with a friend without needing something more, something that he knows he can’t have. He always did want too much.

.

He picks up a contract for a griffin, and it goes less well than he’d hoped. He takes the beast down with his crossbow and an oiled silver blade, but not before it dives at him and rips through a weak point in his armor. As the blow lands, Geralt’s only thought is, ridiculously enough, that he‘s glad he insisted Jaskier stay at the camp so he doesn’t have to see this.

The wound looks worse than it is. There’s a torrent of blood pouring from a dramatically deep gash in his side, but the talons missed his major organs and it’s nothing he can’t handle.

He pushes a linen pad to the wound, throws back a couple of doses of Swallow, and drops to his knees. If he mediates for an hour or two, the healing will be easier.

.

He’s roused from his meditation by frantic shaking at his shoulders and a wailing noise that sounds like… crying? He blinks, woozy, his brain taking a moment to snap into focus.

In front of him is Jaskier, distraught, tears pouring down his face. Geralt pulls himself forceably back to full consciousness and leaps to his feet, ready to defend Jaskier from whatever is threatening him.

“Geralt!” Jaskier gasps. “You’re not dead, thank the gods, you’d been gone for hours so I came to look for you and I found you here all covered in blood, I thought, I really thought -” He bursts into tears again and throws his arms around Geralt.

It pulls at the gash in his side, but Geralt puts his arms around Jaskier anyway, rubbing comforting circles into his back. “It’s okay, Jaskier, I was just meditating, I’m fine.”

Jaskier snorts and pulls back to look at Geralt, face still wobbly. “Are you sure? Because that is a _lot_ of blood.”

Geralt grunts. He is standing in an admittedly large pool of red, but the potions and the meditation have helped. The gash will close itself in a few hours. “Don’t worry,” he says, rubbing the tears from Jaskier’s face with his thumb. “A hot meal and a warm fire and I’ll be good as new.”

Jaskier’s bottom lip trembles, but he nods and walks Geralt back to the camp.

.

Some food and warmth do indeed help, and by the time night falls his wound has closed to an itchy scab which is little more than an annoyance and another scar to add to his collection.

Jaskier fusses over him, piling the fire high and pushing extra portions of food into his hands before rearranging their packs on the ground so Geralt can sit comfortably propped up against them.

“Enough, Jaskier,” Geralt huffs when he comes over to check his wound for the third time in an hour, though even to him it sounds less annoyed and more fond. Jaskier’s lips purse like he’s about to argue, so Geralt deploys a cunning distraction, lifting his arm on his non-injured side. “Come here.”

A blur of emotions pass over Jaskier’s face before settling on what Geralt assumes to be amused tolerance, and he sits down beside Geralt and nestles under his arm. He’s warm against Geralt’s side and he smells like campfire smoke and cool linen. Geralt lets himself indulge for a moment, breathing in the scent of Jaskier’s hair and pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head.

“Earlier,” Jaskier begins, voice a little shaky, “when I thought… well. Earlier. It made me think.”

“Hmm?”

“I didn’t… I didn’t want to not do this, at least once,” he says, shifting until he’s looking up at Geralt and their mouths are inches apart.

Jaskier kisses him, and it’s not like the times before. They’ve kissed occasionally, mouths meeting as they pant for air while fucking, but this is not like that.

This time, Jaskier kisses him like he’s drowning and Geralt is his last source of air, like they have awoken something vast and all-encompassing between then, and when Geralt lays him out on the bedroll his hands don’t leave Geralt’s body for a second. Every touch feels like a revelation, the slide of their bodies creating something larger than themselves.

Geralt looks into Jaskier’s eyes, really looks, like he’s always wanted to, and Jaskier is crying again but it’s real and it’s genuine and it makes Geralt feel like he might be going under himself.

Because this is no performance. This is messy and desperate and heartfelt, without artifice or facade.

Afterwards, they stay twined around each other, Geralt gently brushing his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. “That was…” Geralt trails off. He’s not sure he has the words to explain. No, that’s not true. He does know the word, but he’s terrified to use it.

“Loving,” Jaskier supplies, not meeting his eyes. He sounds very sad about it. “Not much point in hiding from it now, is there?”

Geralt supposes not. He doesn’t just want Jaskier’s body or his company. He wants his heart, and that’s too much to ask for.

Jaskier seems to take his silence as reproach. “I’ve tried to stop it, but I can’t. I love you, Geralt, and that’s how it is.”

Geralt stares, because he is sure, so sure, that he must have misheard. “You _what_?”

“I didn’t mean…” Jaskier trails off. “No, actually, I did mean it. But you don’t have to say anything, I know that’s not what this is. I’m know I’m not… enough… for you, not like that. We can keep it casual. It’ll be fun.” He looks like he might cry again.

Geralt’s heart soars, like there’s a fountain of warmth and life overflowing in his chest. “You’re an idiot,” he says, and Jaskier’s face falls like he’s been punched as he turns away. Geralt takes his chin and turns his head back so Jaskier can look him in the eye. “You’re an idiot, and so am I. I don’t want _casual_ , Jaskier, I never have.”

Jaskier peers at him like he’s not sure he believes what’s happening. “Then what do you want?”

“I want you.” There it is, in its brutal simplicity. “In every way and in any way you’ll have me.”

The tears start again, and Geralt would feel bad about that but Jaskier is smiling bright as the sun. “You have me. Always have and always will.”


End file.
